Soldier of Rome- Rise of the Flavians

by James Mace

  “Ten years,” Gaius answered. “You may also recall, I was raised in Britannia but my family’s ancestral home was in Ostia.”

  “I know,” Aula replied. “Remember, my father bought the villa and vineyard from your grandfather.”

  “Ah, yes, I had forgotten. You know, I’ve never seen it. Since your father sold it after he decided to resettle in Britannia, gods only know who owns it now. It feels strange, though. I march towards the home of my ancestors not as a returning son, but with my sword in hand.”

  “I wouldn’t over-philosophize it,” Aula said, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder, causing him to involuntarily shudder. “Think of it this way, you are returning to the home of your ancestors to liberate it from the reign of the tyrants.”

  “Well spoken,” Gaius said, turning to face her. With a confidence that he had lacked before, he placed both hands on Aula’s hips. “And while I wish for nothing more than to spend this glorious day with you, I have my duties to perform.”

  “As do I.” Before she could reply further, Gaius leaned in and kissed her firmly but gently on the lips.

  He lingered for a second or two. She did not pull away from him. He then took a step back and was smiling broadly. “Ave, my lady,” he said with a bow, before turning and briskly walking back to his cohort.

  It had taken almost a week to make the necessary preparations for the Vitellian Army’s departure from Rome. Months of lethargy and excess had weakened their physical and mental readiness. Many of the Germanic and Gallic legionaries suffered terrible illnesses brought on by the heat of the Roman summer. Caecina could only hope Valens was correct in his assumption that a couple of weeks on the march would sort them out.

  Caecina departed Rome with the first wave of his division, consisting of the bulk of Legio I, Germanica, Legio IV, Macedonia, Legio V, Alaudae, detachments from various legions, and ten cohorts of auxilia infantry. Between casualties from the first war, the discharges authorized by Vitellius, and the depletion of volunteers to fill out the newly raised praetorian cohorts, his legions were severely depleted. A compiled report from his legates was rather alarming. Four in ten of their authorized billets were vacant.

  Not only were the legions short of numbers, they were severely lacking in experienced leaders. Caecina was still commanding legate of Fourth Macedonia, and while the chief tribune of First Germanica had been replaced, the currently absent Valens was still its legate. Despite these shortcomings, Caecina headed north with a force of almost fifteen thousand imperial soldiers. They would soon join Legio XXI, Rapax, and Legio I, Italica who had been encamped near Cremona since the Vitellian victory over Otho. And, as they had not been required to transfer soldiers into the new Praetorian Guard, their fighting strength was much higher than the other legions. Caecina was confident that the addition of their forces, along with the recall of numerous auxilia regiments, would give him the numbers necessary to defeat any immediate Flavian threat.

  Like Otho’s armies five months before, the Vitellian legions first rallied on the enormous arena floor of the Circus Maximus. Tribunes and centurions had worked feverishly to make their soldiers ready for the long march. The months of excess and a total absence of discipline had left many legionaries in a sorry state. However, the call to arms had come as a relief to the Gallic and Germanic legionaries, who were ready to depart from the insufferable heat of the imperial capital. Few had ever ventured this far south, having lived their entire lives in cooler, temperate climates. The stifling heat and humidity of Rome had left many sick, with some of their companions succumbing to disease. Marching to war gave them a purpose, and the soldiers hoped to return to their homes, once the Flavians were beaten.

  Valens, speaking on behalf of the emperor, exhorted the legions to remember who they were, and what they were fighting for.

  “You are soldiers of Rome!” he proclaimed. “The armies of the Rhine are the fiercest fighters in the world, vanquishers of the empire’s enemies, both foreign barbarian, and traitors within our own ranks! Many of you wish to return home, and I tell you this, the road home will be paved with the bones of Flavian dead!”

  This elicited a loud ovation from the assembled horde of soldiers, more so for the promise to return to their homes than out of loyalty to Vitellius. And as they departed the Circus, the road leading north across the Milvian Bridge was lined with the newly raised praetorians and urban vigiles. These men, whose task was to keep the streets clear for the departing army, watched somberly as their former mates marched past them. Many of these would be making the trek soon enough, however. Valens was organizing a second wave of troops with the intent of securing central Italia and reinforcing Caecina.

  “Our armies depart once more, to make war upon each other,” Suetonius Paulinus said bitterly, as he and Flavius watched the legions from their senatorial box at the Circus.

  “It is an ugly thing,” Sabinus concurred. “Vitellius is doing at least one thing correct that Otho neglected. He’s keeping a sizeable military force in Rome, just in case the Flavians should seize the initiative and defeat Caecina. Not that that would trouble you, of course.”

  “Or you,” Paulinus added, with a dark grin. “Should your brother gain the upper hand in this war, the more likely Vitellius will come down on you. Not an easy thing to live with.”

  Sabinus did not reply. With Vespasian’s army poised to invade Italia, Sabinus’ attempts to remain neutral would likely come to naught. He was still deeply shamed by his submitting to Lady Triaria’s demand for the life of Cornelius Dolabella in an attempt to pacify the new regime. Because of this grievous act, Sabinus no longer cared what happened to him. He suspected the gods may demand his life to atone for Dolabella’s murder. However, he still feared for his family; his sons, his nephew, and even his brother’s mistress, who had been like a member of the family for years. And as he and Paulinus watched the imperial armies depart the capital once more, Sabinus vowed to do whatever it took to protect those closest to him. If need be, he would sacrifice his life in order to protect theirs.

  Despite their declined state of readiness and fitness, the legions of the Rhine moved at a surprisingly brisk pace, once they were away from the congestion of the city. And though they were lacking in senior officers, centurions were quick to restore their usual discipline using a combination of berating, physical chastisement, and praise of their past deeds. It all served to remind the soldiers that they were still the best troops in the Imperial Army and, consequently, the entire known world. Their personal pride and the dignity of their legions compelled them to march, long after their weakened legs ached and their lungs wished to give out. And though they were all red-faced and utterly exhausted when they made camp each night, Caecina was confident it would not take long for their bodies to be restored to their former fighting strength.

  By the end of the first week, they had reached Arretium, in the heart of central Italia. The commanding general spent much of his time ruminating over the coming campaign. The further away from Rome they marched, the greater his doubts about the cause he was fighting for. Caecina only knew Vespasian in passing and couldn’t recall a time they had ever actually conversed with each other. However, he knew the Flavian general’s reputation. His skill as a soldier was legendary, with Emperor Claudius commending him and Sabinus for seemingly conquering the Britannic province by themselves. And while his tenure as Proconsul of North Africa had been a disaster, he had since redeemed himself with his performance in Judea. Though of very humble origins and only a second generation senator, aristocratic pedigree had become obsolescent following the death of Galba.

  And what of Vitellius, the emperor he had faithfully served since the revolt against Galba? He was lethargic and easy to manipulate; plus, his lack of any sort of oversight had allowed Caecina to continue to make himself immensely rich. Just prior to the revolt, Galba had issued a warrant for the arrest of Caecina on charges of embezzlement. The trouble was, Vitellius was weak, and everyone knew it. He di
dn’t try to put up a façade of being in control of the imperial court. Even the poorest plebeians knew it was Caecina and to an increasing degree, Valens, who controlled the emperor. And if their constant squabbling was causing a rift within the court, what were the ripples being felt throughout the rest of the empire?

  “Vespasian’s uprising, for a start,” Caecina muttered to himself, answering his own question. He sat at his desk within the principia tent, ruminating, with the light of an oil lamp dancing off the table.

  “Sir?” a nearby staff tribune asked.

  The general simply shook his head. He sat with his chin resting on his hand, contemplating just how long these men would be willing to bleed for Vitellius.

  “Once we establish at Hostilia, I will need to secure the allegiance of the fleet at Ravenna,” he finally said.

  On the morrow, they would begin their march once more. In three days they would reach Florentia. Another three or four after that, they would cross over the mountains and arrive at Bononia. While the intent was for the army to encamp near the small fort known as Hostilia just north of the Rive Padus, Caecina would be personally making a diversionary trip down to the coastal city of Ravenna. He needed to speak with Admiral Bassus, who commanded the largest fleet in the Imperial Navy. Caecina knew Bassus was angry with Vitellius for denying him promotion to Prefect of the Praetorian Guard, and so his loyalty was sketchy. He sat quietly, scarcely touching his supper while sipping on a cup of wine, his gaze distant. Caecina Alienus was beginning to think that perhaps Rome needed a strong emperor, rather than a fat, malleable puppet.

  It was a cloudless day, and the late summer sun beat down upon the advance elements of the Flavian Army. Primus’ cloak and armor was making his back sweat, as his horse swatted at flies with its tail. The high humidity intensified the heat, as did the glare of the sun off the armor and helmets of the vast column of legionaries and auxilia troopers. They halted every hour or whenever there was a stream or river for the men to refill their water bladders, which they drank from constantly.

  Having decided to seize the initiative, General Antonius Primus had launched his invasion into Northern Italia devoid of any pomp or ceremony, dispatching his first wave towards Aquileia. Command of his cavalry corps fell to the competent equite officer, Arrius Varus, who personally led their reconnaissance-in-force. And, as Primus was commander-in-chief of the entire army, he combined his advance guard from the Seventh and Thirteenth Gemina Legions into a single division under the command of the Thirteenth’s legate, Vedius Aquila. Primus himself rode with Aquila this day, though he made certain he was in constant communication with the second wave of his army. The bulk of these forces came from Third Gallica, Seventh Claudia, and Eighth Augusta Legions. As they were coming from further into Pannonia and Moesia, Primus did not expect to see them for at least two more weeks, possibly longer for Seventh Claudia.

  “As long as Vitellius doesn’t throw everything at us between now and then,” the commanding general said, with a mirthless chuckle.

  “Not unless he’s found a way to magically transport his soldiers three hundred miles,” Aquila remarked. He gave a shrug. “Of course, they did seem to make soldiers appear out of thin air when Caecina crossed over the Alpes during winter.”

  “Otho did not have scouts watching north of the mountains,” Primus observed. “Whereas I have eyes in every direction. Their only scouts come from a single cavalry regiment, who have not dared venture east of the River Aesontius. And the only legionary forces in Northern Italia have not moved from Cremona.”

  “Given the size of Arrius’ cavalry corps, they can likely roam wherever they wish,” Aquila noted.

  “We’ve kept Vitellius blind up until now,” Primus observed. “However, he knows by now that we are coming. Arrius’ last report stated that the citizens of Aquileia were friendly, and even opened the gates to his troops. Hopefully, the same will hold true when we arrive at Patavium. Once we do, I want us to hold in place and wait for our second division. By then we should know where the main Vitellian Army is and have an idea as to their fighting strength and disposition.”

  “Yes, sir,” the legate replied. “Do you plan on advancing to Verona next?”

  “While arguably the most important strategic city in the region, I don’t think we shall, at least not right now,” Primus said, drawing a confused gaze from Aquila. “I’m concerned about the Ravenna fleet. They have a large force of marines who could very well be dispatched to fight on land. And those ships could easily transport an enemy force across the Adriatic Sea, dropping them behind us while cutting our supply and communications.”

  “A possible threat, though unlikely,” Aquila surmised. “Any expedition they launch risks being trapped between our army and Mucianus, wherever he may be.”

  “Likely getting his cock stroked by eastern boy-whores,” Primus scoffed.

  “Reconnaissance patrol returning, sir!” a centurion shouted, from the vanguard of Legio XIII.

  “That will be Arrius,” Aquila speculated.

  Approximately twenty horsemen were seen riding alongside the road on the open field of tall grass. One of their number had the black plume on his helmet denoting a senior officer and confirming the legate’s assessment.

  “General, sir,” Arrius said, riding over and saluting Primus.

  “Commander Arrius,” Primus replied, returning the courtesy.

  “My lead regiment has reached Patavium. He spoke with the mayor himself, who pledged the city’s fidelity to Vespasian, provided we don’t abandon them to the mercy of the Vitellians.”

  “Likely they would make the same entreaty to the enemy had they arrived first,” Legate Aquila said.

  “Patavium is well-fortified and a gateway into Northern Italia,” Primus noted. “Thankfully, we’ve arrived first and are saved the time-consuming and messy detail of a siege. Any sign of the enemy?”

  “Just their scouts, so far,” Arrius replied. “I suspect they only have a single regiment of cavalry in the region. Since the most we have seen at one time are individual companies, they must be spread thin.”

  “Attempting to send scouts between our regiments to get eyes on the main column,” Primus observed.

  “I think it is safe to say, we’ve thwarted their efforts thus far,” Arrius asserted. “My lads control the roads leading out of Vicetia. Patrols are covering the gap between the mountains near the road station of Ad Finem.”

  “Excellent work,” the commander-in-chief said. “Once we establish our headquarters at Patavium, we’ll conduct a reconnaissance with both infantry and cavalry and see if we can’t goad the Vitellians into playing the next round of this little game with us.”

  Over the next few days the long column continued its advance unmolested. Any troops in the region that were loyal to Vitellius had fled long before the Flavians arrival. A week after departing from Emona, the advance guard arrived at the city of Patavium. A sprawling city, it was the central hub of all commerce between Northern Italia, Pannonia to the east, and Raetia to the north. As Arrius had reported, the citizens proved friendly, opening their gates and welcoming the Flavian Army. The commanding general wisely kept his forces cantoned outside the city walls, minimizing any drunken quarrels with the local populace. While Primus waited for the remainder of his army to arrive, Arrius Varus dispatched four regiments of cavalry and the Tenth Legion’s attached cohort to screen the southwest and attempt to make contact with any Vitellian elements in the region.

  The past week had been one of exhilaration, as well as frustration for Tribune Lucius Artorius. He was at first filled with nervous excitement, once they spotted the Flavian horsemen. However, as Arrius had rightly surmised, the Siliana Horse were scattered throughout the region. Lucius had left one company patrolling the area around the auxilia fort of Hostilia, while the rest attempted to scout every possible avenue of approach the Flavians might use.

  Unfortunately, the enemy had an entire corps of between four and five thousand hors
emen saturating the region, and Lucius simply did not have the numbers to so much as skirmish with a single element of their force, even if his regiment was concentrated in a single place.

  The two companies that rode with him made camp near the town of Ateste which lay approximately twenty-five miles southwest of Patavium. The presence of at least one regiment of Flavian Cavalry, which his lead scouts had watched come and go as they pleased, told him the city had betrayed the emperor.

  It was well after dark when Lucius returned from a patrol, along with Centurion Liberius and about twenty troopers, to confirm the intelligence about Patavium’s betrayal. Their camp was two miles northwest of the town, where a small river served as a natural protective barrier. The troopers guarding the entrance were noticeably on edge, knowing overwhelming numbers of enemy soldiers were just a few miles away with no sign of their own reinforcements. As Lucius dismounted and handed the reins to a servant, he signaled for Centurion Liberius to walk with him so they could speak in private.

  “I feel like we’ve been left to defend the whole of the damned empire by ourselves,” the tribune muttered, as he removed his helmet and ran his fingers through his hair, damp with sweat. “General Caecina has tasked us with gathering intelligence for him, yet all we have seen is their cavalry. We’ve counted the standards of what, five different regiments?”

  “Six,” Liberius corrected.

  “And our own regiment is scattered to the fucking winds,” Lucius spat, fighting to keep his composure. Though they were out of earshot of their men, sentries could still see the pair, and it would not do for their commanding officer to lose his temper in front of them.

  “I don’t know what to do,” he said, clearly flustered. “If I try to consolidate, we will be left blind, which means we cannot hold the line anywhere. The Flavians are using an entire corps of cavalry as their reconnaissance. How am I supposed to gather any useful information when every element of the enemy that we see has us horrifically outnumbered?”